


But in Your Position, That is a Risk

by ot5ology



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Desperation, Domestic, Fluff, Humor, Inspired by Real Events, M/M, Non-Sexual, Omorashi, Reality, Wetting, maybe they're in a relationship?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-28
Updated: 2017-12-28
Packaged: 2019-02-21 22:03:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,629
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13152936
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ot5ology/pseuds/ot5ology
Summary: When Phil orders an extra large drink for his viewing of Blade Runner 2049, he discovers he's taken on (or should we say taken in) more than he can handle. Dan's just along for the ride.(A fic based on this tweet - https://twitter.com/AmazingPhil/status/921440571637600256 )or I didn't mean to write an 8k+ fanfic about Phil needing to pee and Dan helping him with that, but here we are.





	But in Your Position, That is a Risk

**Author's Note:**

> this has been stewing around for a while, ever since that one joint liveshow right before spooky week. There's not a lot of Phan omo so ta-da!
> 
> Here's our reminder that Dan and Phil do as they please and don't adhere to any of our fanfic speculations! Carry on and enjoy!

When Phil stepped out into the bright lights of the movie marquee from the dark theater, he had only two things on his mind: Ryan Gosling and the length of the ride home.

He side-eyed Dan, who was already checking on their cab location. It couldn’t come quick enough.

After their very visually pleasing (thank you Mr. Gosling) and very long movie ‘date’, Dan and Phil were both anxious to get home again. The only reasons they ventured out in the first place were movies and coffee, so after three hours away they had more than exhausted their time-out-of-the-flat quota for the day.

For Phil, however, there was a bit of added pressure to get home. Tangible pressure. Bladder pressure.

He knew trouble was ahead. And it was completely his fault.

“Go easy on the pick ‘n mix, Phil,” Dan chortled from the order counter as he clutched two large popcorns to his chest. His friend was meticulously placing the perfect amount of cola bottles, cherry Haribo, and other sugar-filled sweets Dan never had much of a taste for into a pink cup.

Phil, in turn, shook his cup at him, rattling the candies around like a confectionary maraca. The employee helping Dan smiled at the friendly exchange from behind their counter. Their name tag said ‘Hello, my name is [Sarah]’. Now Dan doesn’t believe the universe has a purpose at all; everything was just one huge cluster-fuck. But this felt like a direct attack by the cosmos. The brackets around the name really convinced him that something was out there with the sole purpose of making him cringe. With that in mind, he had a laugh of his own accord at their name tag which, he noticed, also had hand-drawn stars around the perimeter.

Dan thanked Sarah the Starry Server for the snacks, and walked over to survey Phil's options. The pick 'n mix station consisted of around 40 canisters of sweets stacked along a wall of the theater. Perusing amongst the options of chocolate pretzels to brownie bits to apple rings, Phil was in heaven and would be well content during the next three hours, Dan could surely tell.

“You’re a kid in a candy store, Philly,” Dan chuckled in response to the gleam of wonderment in Phil’s eyes. 

“Um, correction,” Phil doted. “I’m a 30-year-old man about to have the best movie experience of his life because of some gummy sharks.”

“You’re a sugar freak is what you are.”

Without so much as a pause, Phil started to sing:

“He’s a sugar freak, sugar freak, he’s sugar freak-ay!” He shook his cup like an instrument again in tune with the song.

And his friend couldn’t help but grimace fondly. He heard Sarah the Starry Server muffle a laugh behind him.

“We’re in public, please act accordingly,” Dan pleaded with no real bite behind his words. Phil was simply one of those people you couldn’t glower at. Especially when he laughed with his tongue between his teeth, which is what he did in response to Dan’s chiding until his eyes went wide with a question. 

“Hey, the drinks? Did you get them?”

He asked this as they were weighing and paying for Phil’s pick ‘n mix, which cost too too much.

“Oh shit,” Dan replied, “I left the cups on the counter over there.” He looked over his shoulder to find the cups unmoved, thank goodness. He eyed them from across the way and took notice of the size difference between the two for the first time.

“Wait, wait, wait, Phil? You got an extra large?”

“It’s a three hour movie,” Phil whined, “I’m going to need it.”

 As they approached their cups, Dan held back a biting remark. He ordered himself a medium, knowing exactly how to pace his drinking throughout the movie so his beverage would last as long as possible. Phil knew nothing about pacing when it came to junk food, they both knew that as fact. Thus, Dan bit his lip to keep quiet, filled his cup with Diet Coke wordlessly then handed it to Phil, who was carrying less.

Armed with their hoard of snacks, they walked down the dark red tinted hallways and into their designated screen. Blade Runner 2049 had already been out for two weeks or so, but the crowd was pretty decent even though they had caught the last showing of the day. Perhaps it was full of all the people who had finally decided they wanted to devote upwards of 2 hours and 44 minutes to a reboot.

They settled in, Dan on Phil’s right like they were filming a video; like they had a predisposition to sit in this way. He passed Phil’s popcorn over, spilling a few kernels into his lap during the process. Phil picked them off his lap and ate them without hesitation.

“Lap snacks,” he commented between crunching on the kernels.

And that was the most of their conversation. Phil understood how serious Dan could be about trailers and spoilers. He could even admit that he became embarrassed whenever Dan went to extreme measures like hiding behind his popcorn and humming a song to block out the screen. Okay, Phil confessed that it was an endearing quality: to want to experience something you love with fresh eyes and no bias. And he often liked to join Dan in that.

So when they saw the silhouette of AT-ATs on the screen, they immediately averted their eyes to each other’s, mouths drawn wide.

“Oh my god, this should be a crime,” Dan hissed to Phil, ready to draw up his popcorn like a spoiler shield.

“I know,” Phil replied averting his eyes.

There was silence between them for a few moments as the deep-voiced narrator spoke about power and legacy.

They spoke at the same time.

“Maybe we should—”

“What if we just—”

It was evident they were on the same track.

Together they turned toward the screen as THE music started.

Halfway through, Phil heard Dan make a soft noise. He looked over. Dan’s face, bathe in a red glow, had a single tear streak leading into his dimple. Phil’s heart ached for him, but didn’t want to interrupt the intimate moment by speaking.

After the info screen had passed, he looked to his friend again, who was unashamed in his tears for the beloved saga.

As Dan wiped at his cheeks with his fingertips, Phil spoke up.

“I’d have held your hand through it but my fingers are covered in butter.” He waggled them in the air beside Dan. 

This pulled a mild chuckle from the other.

“No you wouldn’t’ve. You haven’t been able to keep your hands off the popcorn for a single second.”

Now it was Phil’s turn to smile.

“Ya got me there. I’m a butter-glutton.”

Instead of reaching his greasy fingers over the arm rest that divided them, Phil settled on nudging Dan’s elbow with his. Dan rubbed back, making his whole body squirm in his seat, like he was mocking the movement. The seats squeaked beneath them as they continued their childish bit. Phil didn't realize how much noise they were making until it was the only thing he could hear.

“Settle down, worm,” Phil shushed, “I think it’s about to start.”

The lights fully dimmed and, consequently, the two fully nestled their bums into the plush seats.

And the occasion was turning out to be an ideal cinema experience: beautiful visuals, an amazing story, the whole she-bang. Over two hours into the movie, the tension was building as the story lead to an end. But it had been such a long movie. For regular features, Phil knew they would have already been past the last climax and into the final scenes by now. 

Well, this was the commitment he'd made. He’d ran out of the prime part of the popcorn within the first hour and picked through the favorites of his sweets. A few too-sour candies he’d wanted to try out were rejected after the first one left a bad taste in his mouth. 

He had to drink a lot of Pepsi to wash away the bitterness. At least a quarter of it.

Since it was on his mind, Phil reached over to jostle his cup a bit to gauge how much he had left. 

Oh. Not much. He heard significantly less drink hit the sides of the cup than when he checked 30 minutes ago. And he was starting to feel the effects of all the liquid inside him. 

In normal instances, Phil was one to casually put off his bathroom needs. Whether in the middle of a live show or cleaning the flat, he waited with a full bladder until he could make time to go without interrupting his present task. Similarly, he’s sat through several movie screenings with the need to wee in the back of his mind. 

Because the cup was already in his hand, Phil went to take a sip. Not that he was thirsty or anything, but because it felt like habit. Might as well stay hydrated, as Dan always reminded. But as a result of his intake, Phil could practically feel the added volume to his stomach. 

Smartening up, he put the drink away permanently and focused back on the screen, consuming the movie instead of the Pepsi.  

Ten or so minutes later, he was nudged out of his trance by two things. The first was that Dan moved a little bit and prodded Phil’s upper arm with his; this pulled his attention away from the screen. The second was the noise of an empty cup.

His Diet Pepsi was now completely gone; he was sucking in the remnants of it as well as plasticky air through the straw. Phil drew away from the straw shocked that his subconscious self decided to drink without his explicit permission. 

He groaned internally. The pounding on his bladder that he'd felt half an hour ago was more persistent, raging a protest against the drink inside. Despite that, Phil wasn’t about to do anything about it anytime soon. He merely put the cup down in defeat, sank back in his seat, and pressed his thighs together. 

About five minutes away from the end of the movie, Phil realized his bladder was becoming uncomfortable. There wasn’t exactly pain below his navel, but instead this constant irritating tingle. To keep it at bay, he shifted one leg over the other and stayed that way until the last scene. Yet at the same time, he was trying not to rustle too much; there was a movie going on after all. That’s how considerate he was. Even when he was in a bad situation Phil still maintained his manners. By the time the credits started rolling, he was bouncing in his seat, slick hands clenching the leather fabric. He decided to speak up for the first time in a while.

“Are we staying for the credits?”

He didn’t really have to ask this question, he already knew the answer. Dan always stayed through the credits ‘for the purpose of acknowledging every single person who had a part in the making of the film’. Frankly, Phil just needed to say something to help relieve the tension in his jaw from holding back groans of desperation. 

“Of course,” Dan replied in a haughty manner. “What if there’s an after-credits bit, too?”

Phil surely hoped not. He didn’t want to be in this state any longer just for another glimpse of Harrison Ford. 

Other members of the crowd were leaving, apparently not as optimistic as Dan for another scene. As people skirted past them in the aisle, the pair had to draw their long legs in, which for Phil to do properly meant that he had to uncross them. He opted for planting his feet on the ground and tensing every muscle surrounding his midsection instead. 

Their theater was practically empty now. Remaining were an older gentleman a few rows ahead and a very cuddly couple in the second row closest to the screen; they didn’t look like they were separating soon. Phil looked over to Dan, hoping to see him gathering up his trash and getting ready to leave. Instead, he found him furiously glancing between the credits and his phone, making a notes page of the production assistants and musicians whose names flashed across the screen. The elder gentleman stood up to exit. 

Once the man was completely out of earshot, Phil cupped his hand over his mouth and leaned toward his friend, who was barely paying attention to him. 

“Dan…can we go soon?” Phil was hesitant in saying this, a bit embarrassed by the predicament he’d got himself into. 

When Dan regarded Phil at last, he gave him weird look, moving away from the whisper. 

“We’re in an empty theater,” Dan retorted, eying the spooners in front of him. “Why are you whispering?”

"Uhh…movie etiquette, I guess,” Phil flushed and shifted again. “So are you done yet?”

The lights rose and the screen went black. That answered Phil’s question before Dan had the chance. Now, his next obstacle was how to stand up and walk to the toilet with letting the entire world know he was dying to wee. 

He picked up the dreaded empty styrofoam cup and his bag of crusty kernels as he stood, legs still converging inward. Dan grabbed his trash, but instead of rushing to move into the aisle like Phil wanted he stood and paused, hip out, typing on his phone without any real urgency. 

Phil started to bend at the knees from the stillness. The tingling returned, more jittery than the previous urge.

“Daan,” he whined without meaning to, “Come on. What are you doing?”

“Phiill,” Dan reciprocated in the same drawn-out tone. “I’m getting a taxi, if you must know.”

Phil couldn’t argue against that. After he went to the toilet, he wanted to leave the theater as soon as possible. 

Dan finally started to make his way toward the stairs and Phil gladly followed. 

The walk down the stairs was surprisingly easy for him. The constant movement disguised his jiggling. And the fact that he was behind Dan for the descent helped his case. 

Together they threw away their trash and followed the swirly patterned carpet out into the lobby. That was when Phil realized he was going to have to fess up about his need if he planned to break away from Dan. 

He cleared his throat to begin, but Dan beat him to the punch.

“I always feel so guilty for staying too late for films? It’s like the employees are ready to leave and we’re like, sorry mate, can I get an extra refill and keep you here longer than you need to be when you desperately want to be home?”

Phil was tight lipped in response. He kind of just ‘hmmed’ in agreement to suppress the statement he wasn’t able to voice aloud. All the while, he scanned the area of the lobby until he located the men’s toilet sign in the back left. 

As he and Dan moved toward the exit doors, Phil tried to guide them closer and closer to the restroom, in hopes he could lackadaisically throw out that he needed to duck in. 

Remarkably it worked; they strayed left to the sign as they meandered through the empty space. However as the door came into view, Phil could make out a sheet of paper taped to the front. Written in Sharpie, all caps it read:

CLOSED AFTER 12 AM NIGHTLY

Phil immediately whipped out his phone, though he knew what he would find. They were well into 1 AM. 

At this point, his heart rate started to increase. He always grew nervous in public when things didn’t go to plan, especially when a straining, time-sensitive problem like this arose.  

He pocketed his phone and tried not to look too flustered. He failed at remaining stoic. 

“You alright?” Dan gave him a look from the corner of his eyes. Phil could tell Dan was trying to say this in an offhanded way as if not to offend. 

Dammit.

“Yeah, fine,” he answered…lied. He lied. 

Phill shrugged his coat on. Perhaps it was because of the chilly weather outside. Perhaps it was because it was something to do to block Dan from asking anymore questions.

He resigned that he was going to have to hold it until he got home. He had to, there was no maybe when it came to this. The struggle for relief had only begun. 

The two things on Phil’s mind were, in order:

1) Ryan Gosling because who could possibly get that gorgeous man out of their head after watching him on an IMAX screen for the past three hours?

2) The length of the ride home because after drinking an extra large Diet Pepsi in the span of those three hours, who wouldn’t be absolutely desperate to wee? 

So that was the dilemma Phil found himself in as he stood next to Dan, who definitely knew something was up.

The windy October night gave Phil a reason to shiver a bit, coat pulled tight around his torso. He was trying to be super casual about every movement he made, which made every movement not casual at all, but rather extremely intentional. 

He leisurely crossed one ankle over the other and leant to his right in an attempt to see the screen of Dan’s phone.

“How long until the cab arrives?” Again, very nonchalant.

“Not long,” Dan replied, “less than 10 minutes.”

Phil could only nod; there wasn’t much else he could do.

Well…

He could find a service station toilet or quickly duck into a take-away place close by. Or if he was really really on the edge, an alleyway. Never mind, no, he could never ever go on a public wall, any wall for that matter. His bladder-shyness would keep him from even starting. It brought him back to when he and his friends would walk back from uni parties, half off their asses and full of liquor. They were the ones who went upside a wall or behind a dumpster while Phil was the look out at the end, absolutely bursting to go but condemned to hold it.

So forget the alley. And he didn’t have the confidence to tell Dan he was too remarkably desperate to wee that they needed to take a detour, so forget that option too. Besides, he didn’t think he was that far gone anyway. 

His fretting helped him pass the time. Before too long, Phil saw the light of the cab. It came at around their sixth minute of waiting, just as Dan promised.

When the cab pulled up beside them, Phil lunged for the curbside door, eager to sit down again. However, as soon as he made the sudden movement forward, a urge hit him like a blow to the stomach. To keep it at bay, he had to pause in his tracks, squeezing his tight shut. His eyes went wide and he could feel himself freaking out again as his body tensed. All he wanted to do was hide.

In his rush, he’d left the door wide open without climbing in. He was just stood there, frigid and worrying; Dan gave him a suspicious look. Luckily, the trait of being a fast-weird thinker came to Phil’s advantage. To play off his irregularity, he did a sweeping motion with his hand, like he had intended to open the car door for Dan instead. 

“Okay?” Dan said quizzically but he ducked in the backseat as instructed and scooted over to the far side. Once Phil was absolutely sure he wasn’t going to lose it he slid in after him, thankful for the added security of sitting. He didn’t look at Dan, though he could imagine that Dan’s brow was furrowed in the way that only his does. He was put on edge by Phil’s restlessness and it left him uncertain.

The driver cleared his throat. “Address?”

That shook Dan out of it. He shifted his gaze from his mystery of a friend and to the cab divisor. “—Yes sorry, we’re at…”

Once they were on their way, Dan started to chat again. Their usual rides from movies were full of banter, speculation, and criticism likewise this one should be no different. Dan usually ended up having a one-sided conversation with himself anyway, so Phil could relax knowing he wouldn’t have to focus too much his responses.

Instead, he focused on not wetting the cab seats. God, what an embarrassing thing that would be; it was unthinkable. 

He opted for crossing his arms around his middle and fanning his knees in and out, he hoped subtly. 

Dan, on the other hand, was on a huge rant about the imagery and foreshadowing in the film. 

“It was such a tragic, emotional story about...”

Phil tried to “mmhmm” and nod at all the right moments, but the stimulus of the shaky car ride, his fidgeting knees, and the pounding of his heart became too much for him to handle. Just then, the car bounced on the road and he felt a jerk in his abdomen and a rushing heat between his thighs. Frantic, he snapped a hand to his lap, not quite gripping his crotch, but pretty damn close. He needed to speak up now. 

“Dan, I…”

Dan wasn’t listening. He was still droning on and on about the movie. “...and the complex recurrence of the central theme of…”

“Listen. I need—”

“And what about the—“

“DAN I NEED THE TOILET.” The force of his own voice shocked the both of them into deafening silence. In the now quiet cab, Phil turned to face Dan’s open mouth, frozen mid sentence.

Phil immediately turned away once he met his eyes, embarrassed. Like he had literally blurted out that he was struggling to calm his bladder in the back of a taxi as they zoomed through London. He continued to jiggle uncontrollably as he felt Dan look him up and down, processing what he'd confessed. 

Dan closed his mouth. Then opened it again. Then closed it. Then finally spoke tentatively. 

“Alriiight? Are you alright?”

Phil let out a flustered breath, probably the millionth since his desperate journey began. 

“No, not at all.” It felt better to confess it, especially since he was holding so much else in. He could really appreciate some sympathy right now. Instead, he heard chuckling from the seat beside him. And when he turned his head, he found Dan hiding his smile behind his hand. 

“EXCUSE ME,” Phil accused, “I’m in a dire state and you’re laughing at me?”

His “friend” continued to laugh. “You spoon, why didn’t you go at the movie?”

“I would’ve but they were closed, I tried.” Just thinking about how he almost had the chance to find release made his bladder pound even harder. He doubled over in his seat and clenched his eyes shut. 

Phil’s voice became smaller, meeker. “I have to go really bad.”

It was getting to the point of absolute urgency now. Phil had had his share of close incidents, but he’d always been able to get to a toilet in those cases. But for this moment, he was trapped a cab with his best friend, a crabby stranger, and nowhere to go. He slipped one hand up his leg and clenched his thigh again, too embarrassed to actually grab his crotch in front of Dan though it was what he desired . 

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Dan shift toward him and reach his arm out. Before Phil could process what was happening, he felt a large pressure on his abdomen, right where his bladder was protruding. Instinctively, he bent at the waist and pressed his legs together as tight as he could without overlapping them, hoping to encase anything that may escape. 

He realized that Dan had his huge hand right on his stomach over his shirt. The way it set on his bladder made him want to wail.

“What are you doing?” Phil barked through gritted teeth and tried to breathe normally after the attack on his bladder. 

“What? I’m just feeling.”

“Just feeling?”

“You’re the one always telling me to feel this, feel that. ‘Dan doesn’t my head feel hot? Dan put your hand on my chest, feel how fast my heart is beating’” Dan replied, incredulous. He still hadn’t taken his hand off of Phil. 

Dan massaged back and forth over the bump. 

“Holy shit, you really do have to go, I can feel how full…” he trailed off. That definitely wasn’t a strange conversation to have.

“Duh,” Phil finished for him, “Now, please take your hand off? It hurts.”

“Oh, sorry,” Dan said, genuinely concerned as he pulled away. “I feel a bit guilty for laughing before. Only a bit though, I’m still going to take the piss out of this situation.”

Phil couldn’t help but smile at his choice of words. 

“I wish you could literally take the piss out of this situation.”

The two really knew how to lighten up a complication.

Dan sat back in his seat and pulled out his phone to check the time. 

“Just hang in there, yeah? I’m sure we’re close to home.” He patted Phil sympathetically on the shoulder, trying not to jostle him too much. 

Phil tried to relax and take Dan’s words to heart, but it was proving hard with a liter of liquid in him. He was positive that he could hear it sloshing around whenever they went down a particularly quiet street. 

A little less than 15 minutes later, the car pulled up outside their apartment. The time passed without much incident except for the one time Dan told Phill off for rapidly bouncing the balls of his feet on the floor of the car. (“You’re shaking the whole of London,” he had claimed.)

Again, Phil had to cautiously move to make his way out of the cab and to the door. Dan stayed behind to pay for their ride, noting how much Phil definitely would not, could not stand in one place for a single second. When he met him at the door, Dan saw him pacing back and forth, clenching and unclenching his fists. Together, they stepped into the building and toward the lift to their flat. Phil must have pressed the UP button a million unnecessary times and, luckily for him, it didn’t take long to greet them. 

As soon as the lift arrived, Phil went to stand in the farthest corner and cross his legs at the knee. He was thankful that it was empty; it was the middle of the night after all. Though he was swaying back and forth, he was trying not to move too much. The combination of a shaky lift and a need to pee was an absolute nightmare for him. 

Too focused on stabilizing himself, Phil forgot to press the button for their floor. Leave it to Dan to follow up behind and do it for the both of them. He could hear Phil’s strained intakes of breath as he fretted over himself. It didn’t really make him worry, Phil could control himself. Most of the time…

“Oh god, will this damn lift hurry up?” Phil gripped the handles of the lift and lifted his gaze to the mirrored ceiling as if pleading with the elevator gods. 

Dan could only roll his eyes at his friend's exasperation. “Phil, the doors just closed.”

Phil started to whine. Now that it was truly only he and Dan alone together, he could be as vocal as he wanted to about his need. He also didn’t have to hide his desperation as much. He began to cross, uncross, and recross his ankles, then coupled this movement with shaking his hips back and forth, hoping this would ease the urges that came his way. 

“You look hilarious,” Dan said from his corner of the lift, thumbing through his phone. 

Phil grimaced. “Don’t film meee,” he said, holding up a palm to cover his face.

“I’m not,” Dan said defensively. “But if we were daily vloggers, this would get so many hits.”

“I can see the title now,” Phil played along, “YOUTUBER REALLY NEEDS TO WEE!! WETS HIMSELF IN LIFT asterisk not clickbait asterisk.”

Dan laughed at this way too accurate satire of the current YouTube culture. He ran his hands across the steel side handles as his giggles calmed.

“You’re not actually going to wet yourself, are you?”

Phil sighed again and twisted on the spot. “I hope not, I’ll never be able to show my face again if I do.” 

They were interrupted by the voice overhead that signaled they had arrived at their floor. 

If Phil could have bolted straight into their flat and right to their toilet, he would have. How he wished in that moment to have the ability to transport. However, he knew he wasn’t able to; he’d definitely burst at the seams if he attempted to rush even a little. 

Embarrassingly, he teetered over to the lift door held open by Dan, who waited for his slower counterpart. Phil moved in small steps, placing one foot forward, then immediately snapped his back leg into its proper place right behind the other. The wobble-walk was a slow process. 

Dan was more than halfway down the hallway when Phil had to stop a few feet from the elevator. An intense spasm make him freeze on the spot, legs crossed and doubled over. For the first time that night he had to put a hand between his legs and physically hold himself out of panic. As he squeezed with all of his might, Phil felt his cheeks flush. 

Phil’s heart was pounding out of his chest as he feared for the life of his jeans, the carpet below him, and his own dignity. 

“Oooh,” he winced, pitching forward. He couldn’t take another step. He looked up the hallway toward Dan, who hadn’t noticed the plight of his friend. 

“Dan,” he whisper-yelled, “I can’t ugh—.” Phil was well-too aware of his neighbors just behind the other wall. He prayed Dan would hear him calling and of course Dan did. 

Though he was just outside their door, Dan turned back, saw the predicament, and immediately started to hurry toward Phil, who had finally started to move.

With his long legs, it took Dan no time to reverse his steps. Voice soft, he pitied, “Phil, what have you gotten yourself into?”

Phil shook his head and straightened up. “I’m fine, I’m fine,” he denied. This was the most mortifying moment of his life. He was 30 years old and yet about to wee his trousers in front of his friend of eight years.  

Dan backed off a bit at Phil’s insistence, but kept his walk in pace with him as they walked to their front door together. 

As they came to the lock, Dan decided to have a bit of fun. He patted his back and front pockets intensionally and couldn’t help the smirk that tugged at the corners of his mouth as he asked, “Now, you have the keys, right?” 

Phil, however, wasn’t in the mood to joke and didn’t pick up on the comedic tone of Dan’s voice. Therefore his heart sank. It didn’t seem like the situation could get any worse, but here he was. He had taken his hand out from between his legs, but it was beginning to creep back into place when he learned about this new development. 

“NO?! I gave them to you as we walked out, remember?” Phil gasped, struck with the notion that he may be stuck out here mere feet away from relief. “It’s the second Saturday of an even month, that means you have key responsibility.” This couldn’t be happening. 

“Relax, Philly,” Dan reassured with a chortle. Leave it to Phil and his different conventions on key responsibility to make up a specific system for them. But hey, it led to less domestic disputes so there’s that. “I have them,” he resigned, abandoning the gag.

Phil would’ve shoved him over if 1) he had the willpower to spare away from his bladder and 2) Dan wasn’t literally his ticket inside. Delaying would only end up working against him. 

He bobbed impatiently as Dan produced the key from his back pocket and twisted it in the lock. The mere seconds that it took to slip the key in felt like hours to Phil, a seven second challenge from his personal hellscape. 

When the door was open a crack, Phil slipped past Dan into their entry way. He tried to ride the semblance of stability as far as it would take him, in this case it was to their kitchen island. His legs shook with anticipation as he leaned across the cold counter, a stark contrast to his body heat caused by the exertion of the past hour. God, had it been an hour?

Though he was gripping the edge of the counter with white knuckles, he tried to present himself as collected. Slowly, he toed his shoes off and kicked them to the side. He wasn’t fit to move toward the toilet yet, so he chose to bide his time, and, consequently, wait out the waves of desperation, effectively. He pulled his wallet out of his pocket and dropped it on the table then proceeded to tap his fingers over the marble. There was too much nervous energy inside of him; it was making him frantic and unorganized.

After Dan had placed the keys on their designated hook, he moved to the sink, adjacent of where Phil stood. 

“Wow, I thought you’d race to the toilet at this point.” 

Dan had his back toward Phil as he arranged something near the fridge. Since he was turned away, Phil didn’t hesitate in squeezing his crotch beneath the counter. He tried to throw Dan’s comment flippantly over his shoulder.

“Pssh, yeah, just getting stuff done before—“

He stopped abruptly. Oh shit.

Without warning, Dan had turned on the tap, only for a split-second to wet a napkin. The water pounded in the basin which, of course, produced a loud noise that filled the previously quiet apartment. 

The sound harkened Phil back to the times Martyn would tease him as a child when Phil potty danced outside of their shared bathroom in their family home. Just like in the past, the sound was doing Phil in after all that time much time waiting.

His bladder seized as it experienced the worst spasm it had encountered this evening. Immediately, Phil crossed one leg over the other, stepping on one foot with the other as he bent over in agony and let out a loud groan. Despite his efforts, he felt a warm, rushing flood between his legs. It only lasted a few seconds, but the initial stream was enough to flow all the way down one leg. A very audible hiss emanated from his jeans. The wetness dribbled out of his jean leg, into his sock, then eventually onto the floor, gathering in a coin sized puddle near his heel. 

“Dammit dammit dammit,” Phil hissed. His hand was wet. His face was red. His socks were visibly stained. He was going to wee himself. 

He continued to stay solid and tense though every instinct was telling him to run to a toilet, to run and hide, to run from Dan, who had turned around in time to see the whole ordeal. 

His friend gaped at him in disbelief. The wet napkin held in his hand hung limply, purpose put aside in favor of the spectacle Phil was making of himself.

“Did you just..piss yourself?”

Phil had lied to himself during the incident in the hallway. This was the most mortifying moment of his life.

“I…uh.”

His voice wavered. He had to grip himself tighter before he could finish his sentence as more threatened to leak between his fingers. 

“Oh god, Dan. I’m gonna...” Phil trailed off, unable to come to terms with what was bound to happen. His vision blurred as tears threatened to roll down his cheeks.

“I can see that.” Dan finished, no lack of sarcasm in his voice. “Are you going to move?”

“I can’t I-I can’t right now,” Phil stuttered. He twisted his body away, but still did not take any steps toward their toilet. If he was going to wet himself, he wasn’t going to do it in plain view. 

He was disgusted by the squelching sound his pants made as his thighs rubbed together; he could feel how his wee had already cooled in the fabric of his sock, his favorite donut sock. 

Dan’s voice came to him again, this time more empathetic. 

“Do you, uh,” he hesitated, “need help getting there?”

To Phil, this was the suggestion of nightmares. Phil was trying his best to minimize the damage between he and Dan’s relationship due to this and now Dan was practically offering to witness every agonizing second.

Just as he was about to decline, his bladder lurched again and Phil swore he could see stars from the pain of having to hold back the wave of desperation. 

He gulped and admitted quietly: “Yeah”

“What? I couldn’t hear you.” Dan quirked his head.

“Yes! Yes, please help,” Phil all but yelped. 

The volunteer snapped to attention. “Okay, what do I do?”

“What do you do?! I don’t know, you offered, I thought you’d have a plan.”

Phil began to impatiently march in place. The pulsing had calmed and he wasn’t on the verge of wetting himself anymore, but that didn’t mean he had the spare time or energy to divert away from his main goal.

Dan held his hand to his chest in mock offense at Phil’s biting remark.

“Don’t yell at me! I’m not the one who drank an extra large Coke during a three hour movie in the middle of the night.”

“It was a Diet Pepsi, not a Coke!”

“Oh that’s what you think the issue is? What brand of soda you bought?”

Phil whined again, more of a pathetic whimper this time. Dan had brought to attention precisely how much liquid he had consumed. Making it tangible like that seemed to exacerbate his need even more. He strengthened his grip on his crotch with one hand, then used the other for balance against the counter. Phil took a shaky breath in and started to murmur incomprehensibly under his breath. His displacement brought Dan back into focus. 

He reached out his hand and slowly placed it on Phil’s shoulder. Phil flinched at the unexpected contact, but didn’t move away. Dan began to slowly make his way to their bathroom, guiding Phil along through their kitchen. Phil took the tiniest of steps, basically moving heel to toe, inch by inch. But it was progress. If they were still living in their old flat, Phil would have had to navigate up several flights of stairs just to get to the landing that led to their toilet; he never would have made it in this state. 

Phil knew he was leaving a trail in his wake. Whether it was from the dripping residue of his last near accident or the infinitesimal spurts that dripped past his fingers he’d never tell.

He had both hands jammed between his legs and postured himself in a half crouch, centered at his groin. His knuckles were white, though barely visible between his thighs. Every now and then he had to stop and fidget erratically, performing the strangest pee dance in history to keep from bursting. Dan surely thought he was crazy when each outburst of movement was accompanied by audible pleas and huffs. The only time he dared to separate his legs were the times where he had to make room to shove his hand deeper into his crotch and get a better hold on himself. And it was starting to fail. 

Phil felt like he was reaching a breaking point. Though his grip was tight, he could feel everything traveling down, about to force its way out. He clamped down hard and braced himself.

“Ooh.” His knees knocked together. His lips were well bitten from all the times he’d worried it in between his teeth.Suddenly, a pang coursed through his midsection as he felt spurts break through his clamped hands. He went still and sobbed, “Oh, Dan… mmmmm I-I’m peeing.”

Dan’s eyes immediately darted to his hips. He watched as wetness bloomed against Phil’s front. Though Phil was wearing black jeans, there was an unmistakable glisten around his hands that disappeared after a few seconds, soaking into the fabric.

Dan looked back to Phil’s face. He was looking beyond them, most likely the door to their bath only six feet ahead. 

Then, after quite a heavy silence, Phil spoke again:

“I’m not going to make it.” His tone was wearied and defeated. Honestly, there was nothing worse for Phil than admitting he couldn’t hold on for six more seconds. He’d basically resigned to wetting himself right there in the middle of their entry way.

But Dan was having none of it. 

“Yes, you will make it, even if I have to drag you there.”

Dumbfounded, Phil started to challenge his assertion, but before he could, Dan took his elbow and moved him closer and closer to the door. “No!” Phil protested, still tripping over his feet with his hands smushed between his legs. More spurts escaped, wetting his palm. They were as relentless as Dan, who wouldn’t let his friend feel sorry for himself and give up. He especially wouldn’t have Phil apologizing to him over something out of his control. 

Finally, they were at the threshold of the toilet. Dan was the one who had to push him in, but Phil had enough common sense to close the door behind him, leaving Dan to worry about whether or not their efforts were successful.

At last, Phil was facing the object of his desire. However, the next step would prove to be the trickiest of them all: removing his iron grip on himself enough to pull his zipper, jeans, and boxers out of the way. Again, he was dancing around on the balls of his feet, contorting and twisting as he panicked and fumbled with the zipper; his vision had gone fuzzy in the frenzy of it all, but he just managed to pull down the zipper with his sweaty fingers. 

A final urge hit Phil like a monsoon. He knew this was the end and tried to hold out a few more seconds. But his bladder had reached its maximum capacity; he was already pissing full force when he pulled himself out of his pants.

The relief was euphoric. To the point were he felt like he was having an out of body experience in which he was watching himself wee kind of euphoric. He could feel the satisfaction spread throughout his entire body. There was still a bit of pressure behind his navel and it took a good few seconds of continuous release for it to go away. As his wee thundered against the water in the bowl he let out a loud groan. He made nonstop noises of bliss as he pressed his free hand to the wall, leaning over the toilet, just letting everything fall out. The cascade only started to recede at least half a minute later, but he was in such ecstasy, he barely even took note of it.

Once his stream had trickled off, Phil surveyed the damage. When he started going there was no time to aim. As a result, the initial stream hit the back of the tank with such force that it bounced back onto Phil’s knees, adding to preexisting wet patches. The toilet was splattered with his yellow flecks of urine from where he literally couldn’t control himself and burst all over the seat. He took some toilet roll and cleaned up around the seat and the floor. He flushed the paper away with the rest and examined his jeans. Oh dear. He had wee stains all the way down to the knee of his left leg and the way down his right including his right sock. And who knows what kind of mess outside he left with…Dan. Oh.

Oh. my. god. All of this had happened in front of Dan. 

If Phil wasn’t already red from exertion, he was definitely turning red from embarrassment and shame. By his standards the toughest part of the night, even though he had just struggled with an over-capacity bladder for almost three hours, would be facing Dan again in this state. Though he didn’t want to face the repercussions of the incident he couldn’t put it off any longer for there timid knock on the door.

“Phil, you okay?” Dan’s question was as meek as his knock. 

Phil gulped around the lump in his throat. He couldn’t just stay silent. 

“Yeah, I mean, I made it. I mean, I mostly made it, I mean—,” he floundered to explain. 

Dan pushed the door open a tad; Phil had never locked it. He noticed Dan didn’t look him up and down like he'd expected him to. He just kept his eyes on his face. Phil used his hands to cover his soaking boxers. Even though Phil had a big dark target around his crotch and hadn’t exactly zipped up all the way, Dan never let his eyes drift there; he was trying to save him the discomfort.

Dan’s voice came back to him, “Are you gonna take a shower now, or something? Because you could leave your clothes on the floor and I’ll take them to the washer? Or..?” He left the question open, prompting Phil for a preferable solution.

Phil felt like he was being babied, coddled even because he half-peed himself. He wanted to jump down the drain and disappear like the loo roll had. He had to speak up for himself, at least regain a shred of dignity.

“You don’t have to do that. You don’t have to touch my…stuff.”

Dan shook his head, “Whatever, it’s nothing, just leave your clothes out.” He rung his hands together and shifted awkwardly. “I’ll bring you some clothes from your wardrobe as well.

“You nev- …. uh.” He didn’t finish his sentence; it wasn’t for right now. All he wanted to do was get out of his jeans, which were starting to get itchy. He closed the door as Dan turned away and started to strip, mind whirling.

Meanwhile, Dan went to Phil’s wardrobe, his mind racing just as fast as his counterpart. Standing outside of the bathroom after Phil went in, his heart was pounding. He’d done all he could to make sure Phil would at least get to the toilet, and now that he couldn’t see it through, he hoped that his efforts hadn’t been in vain. He listened as he heard Phil stumble, grunt, and swear at his zipper and chided himself for not telling him to undo it on the way to save time. Then finally finally, he listened as Phil’s grunts gave in to the recognizable sound of water on water. Though, to Dan's amusement, the first noise sounded more like water on tile.

But then Phil started moaning. Like, serious pornographic moans, and yeah, Dan would know what how those sounded. It made him back away from the door, aware that if he stayed near, he wouldn’t be able to look at Phil for the next few….forevers.

He could only offer to do the least: wash his soiled clothes and get him something warmer and drier. Dan rummaged for Phil’s red and black checkered pajama pants and an old soft t-shirt he’d seen him wear to bed recently. He pulled out a random pair of clean boxers and two socks, un-matched of course. Neither of them spent too much time matching their socks; these could’ve been Dan’s old socks from five years ago.

Dan journeyed back to the bathroom and saw that Phil had indeed laid out his wet clothes in a heap. The next tasks became quite methodical. He put the clothes in the washer and picked up the cleaning solutions on a rack above the dryer set. Then he set to work cleaning up the puddle in the kitchen and the trail of drops, like breadcrumbs, that lead to the bath, the final remnants of the last hour. He’d noticed how defense and awkward Phil acted about cleaning up after him, in light of this, he tried to be quick about it as to not be caught in the act. But then again, Phil was one to take three hour baths, Dan knew he had time.

He escaped down the hall to put on his own pajamas just as he heard the bathroom door open. A few seconds later, the door shut again. 

Phil found him in their usual midnight spot: the upstairs lounge. Dan was on the couch wrapped in a fuzzy grey blanket. The TV showed nothing but the Chromecast background image (a photo of a city as the sunset) and on the coffee table were two untouched packets of crisps.

Comfort preparation. 

Gingerly, Phil stepped over to him from the stairs and plopped down on Dan’s left, drawing his feet up on a pouf.

The silence lingered for a few minutes, neither knowing what to address. Dan was immersed in his phone, probably looking for a show to stream until they called it quits and went to bed. Phil, in turn, was drawn to the crisps on the table, not sure what else to look at; he’d left his phone in the kitchen. After focusing on the chips for a while, he noticed that something was missing from their nightly snack spread.

They’d found themselves in this place so often. Whether it was after a late night out, midnight gaming, or simply being in their own separate corners of the flat for the entire day, they ended up right here to check in with each other. It was their thing. Undoubtedly, Phil knew the essential parts of a "Dan and Phil Catch Up Session" and thus, immediately knew what was off.

“Where’s the Ribena?”

Dan stopped. He didn’t have much of an expression anyway, but it was evident that he was startled by Phil’s question. 

He took a deep breath in, shifting his gaze to the ceiling. “Well, I wasn’t sure if you wanted more to drink..”

As soon as Phil caught on to what Dan meant, he immediately regretted even asking. 

“Oh..” he stammered, turning pink. 

“Yeah.”  

Eventually, Phil caught Dan’s eye. His bottom lip quivered as he drew in a shaky breath.

“Oh no, Phil, I can go get some, I just thought—” Dan scrambled to make amends as Phil covered his face with his hands and his shoulders started to tremble. Dan was about to offer more comfort, but he heard a noise from the other end of the couch.

It started out as a quiet rumble in Phil’s throat. Then it grew to a snicker, then a chuckle, then a loud, hearty roar of laughter, tears and all. He didn’t even notice than Dan broke out in hysterics soon after he did, clutching his side as Phil slapped his knee. They weren’t even sure if they were laughing about the same things. They didn’t care. All that mattered was that they were home, close to one another, laughing out all the turmoil and awkwardness of the day. 

**Author's Note:**

> A few asides:
> 
> title is from a Blade Runner quote
> 
> I took this as a "maybe they're in a romantic relationship/maybe they're not" sort of thing
> 
> This is meant to be completely non-sexual
> 
> I'm American! I don't know all the right British words
> 
> I'm purely guessing about the layout of their new home
> 
> (Also, did anyone catch the The Outsiders reference)


End file.
